A Good Man
by frakkyfire
Summary: [The Stand] What is the significance of the dark man's real name? This is what I think...... *please r&r!*


Disclaimer: I do not own Stephen King's "The Stand", Stephen King owns that. Other stuff: This idea came to me when I noticed a fascinating thing in the book. I don't want to give anything away, but if you want proof then go to pages 708, 895, and 974 in the uncut edition of "The Stand". And I know there's two Richards he could be but I liked this one 'cause it gives me a story. So, maybe you can just pretend that he was never called Richard Frye (or Fry)? Pretty please? ( On with the fic! Oh yeah, and {blah} is thinking and "blah" is talking.  
  
Abigail Freemantle, or Mother Abigail as people called her, woke with a start. {No, it can't be true! But.the dream told me that it was. It must be true} she tried to reason with herself. Sighing, she carefully peeled back the sweaty sheets, which in itself was surprising since she didn't sweat much in her advanced age. Usually she seemed dry as paper. Old, crumpled paper.  
Abigail thought back on her dream as she got up. It had started out pleasant enough; she had been walking through her cornfield and inhaling the rich evening air. But then that man had come and turned it into a nightmare. Him, the dark man. She looked up into his face, and for once he had one, unlike in the previous dreams that he had invaded. He did not have horns, and he did not look like the Randall Flagg that Lloyd or anyone else knew. Instead, his face was dark, like Abigail's own and she was startled to discover that she could see a hint of something familiar in his face, something like.{like my father}she thought, then widened her eyes as the dark man laughed, as if he had read her mind.  
"I have many names, Mother Abigail," he sneered at her name, "and all of them are 'real' in their own right, but I have only one original name."  
"Be gone, ye servant of the Devil!" she shrieked at him, her breath rattling in her chest and her heart racing. "Leave me be!"  
The Walkin Dude smiled, almost sympathetically, "Dear, dear, Abby. God cannot protect you. Not from me at any rate."  
"He can and he shall! I am his faithful servant and he -"  
"Enough of that, old woman!" he snarled fiercely, cutting her off. "I have come for a purpose," he glared at her to emphasize his point, "And you will listen."  
Abigail lifted her chin and stood stoically, prepared to hear what this evil man had to say so she could wake up and be rid of him for the time being. "What is it then?"  
"I have come only to inform you of a very interesting fact," the dark man's eyes glinted with inner glee and amusement. His expression was that of a child watching his dog fetch a stick for its master. "I happen to think that my original name would be of interest to you."  
She not interested, "And why would I want to know the name of one of Satan's servants?"  
"I serve only myself, you old crone, and don't you forget it!" the Walkin Dude shot at her so venomously that Abigail nearly balked in fright. Then he seemed to calm down somewhat. "Now, as for my name, I think it will be of great importance to you. You see, my name just so happens to be Richard. Richard." he paused, acting indifferent, ".Freemantle."  
This time she did balk, and then sat down heavily amongst the corn rows. "But.that's. that's my last name!"  
The dark man grinned at her, a horrible parody of happiness, "I know, isn't it simply wonderful? Do you know why my last name is the same as yours?"  
"No." Abigail squeaked from her position, looking up at him where he seemed to be blocking out the sun with his head, making his features even darker and harder to see.  
"Why, it's because we're related!" he flung his arms out as if in welcoming, then continued, "Do you know what else is interesting?"  
Abigail stood up slowly, "No, and I do not wish to!"  
"Well, I'm sorry Mother Abigail, but you're going to hear what I have to say." The dark man did not seem very sorry, and now he spoke slowly as though Abigail were a child and he was explaining something complicated to her. "I'm your great-great-great-great-great-great-great great-great-great grandfather, on your father's side."  
Despite valiant efforts, Abigail found herself sitting down again and staring up at her great-great-etc. grandfather with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "So that's why..why."  
"I remind you of your father?" he finished for her with a flourish.  
"Yes. That's why you remind me of my." Abigail choked back a sob, "of my father. He was a good man, though! Not like you." She finished, sounding unsure and not a little bit lost.  
"Well, he took after his mother," Richard Freemantle spat, disgusted.  
But Abigail wasn't listening. She was curled up on the ground, rocking back and forth chanting, "He was a good man, he was a good man, he was a."  
That had been when she woke up. Now, as she gazed out the window and watched the sun complete its daily rising, Abigail Freemantle declared softly but firmly, "He was a good man." 


End file.
